


And I'm the fool that shot him.

by Readingfanfics



Series: Prompts [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Panic Attacks, greg gets shot, sherlock on drugs ( past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readingfanfics/pseuds/Readingfanfics
Summary: Sherlock has a breakdown because of the 'return' of Moriarty and he goes on a drug bend. Greg finds him and things go horrible wrong. 6 months later Sherlock meets Greg and things move forward.





	1. Chapter 1

Everything was bright and dull at the same time. Lights hurt his eyes and sounds didn't register. He felt hot like the dessert one minute and cold like the Artic the next. Faces of people were floating in and out of his sight of vision and he couldn't concentrate enough to see who it was. He saw a flash of white, heard the sound of a gunshot and he ducked his head, covering his eyes.

 

Something hard pressed against him, his head hit the floor and his breath left him with a pained noise. His hands were shaking and felt sweaty, shivers running down his spine and he was burning up, up, up.

 

People were screaming and cursing,it hurt his ears and he whimpered in despair. Someone touched his shoulder, a flash of silver in the room and then everything went dark.

 

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“Sherlock.”

 

“Will he be allright?”

 

“Sherlock, calm down.”

 

“Your friend is very lucky.”

 

“Sherlock, it's me.”

 

“He missed any vital organs by inches.”

 

“Sherlock don't!”

 

 

Sherlock's eyes flew open, blinded by the flashy lights, he groaned and tried to pull his pillow over his head when something stopped him. Looking to his side he saw a drip sticking inside his arm, the movement from before pulling at the tube.

 

Sherlock blinked, looking around the room. He clearly was in hospital but he couldn't remember why. The last thing he did remember was the weight of a gun in his hand, people screaming and cursing.

 

Suddenly he shivered and he wrapped the white blanket around him tighter. _Why am I here?_

He tried to piece it back together but his mind was in shambles. It made him nervous and slightly sick and he reached out to find his phone.

 

He couldn't find it. Now the panic was taking him over and he screamed John's name.

 

Instead of John coming into his room it was Mycroft. Sherlock looked his brother over and the panic didn't leave, if anything it made it stronger.

 

“Where -where is John?”

 

His throat felt dry and he swallowed. Mycroft went to the night stand and handed over a glass of water. Sherlock drank it all in one go.

 

“Mycroft. Why am I here?”

 

His voice still sounded weird and tight, the panic gripping his vocal cords. Mycroft looked pale and tired, a little, sad smile on his face. The grip on his umbrella tightened and Sherlock could hardly breath.

 

“Tell me what happened.”

 

Mycroft looked down, taking a moment to find his words and Sherlock knew it had to be bad. Mycroft was never at a loss for words, never. Whatever had happened it wasn't good.

 

“Sherlock you've been in hospital for 3 days now. You went on a drug bend and it nearly killed you. Detective Inspector Lestrade found you in the flat, out of your mind while shouting your gun.”

 

Sherlock's eyes went wide, the gun. The weight of the gun in his hands, the sound of the bullet piercing the wall. Someone's manic laughter and rambling.

 

“ DI Lestrade tried to call you down, tried to get the gun but you ...”

 

Mycroft's shoulder were stiff, he looked 5 years older then he was and he swallowed down a lump in his throat before he could speak again.

 

“You shot him Sherlock. You shot Lestrade.”

 

Any colour that was on Sherlock's face drained away at those words. He couldn't breath, the monitors next to his bed were beeping and a nurse came in rushing.

 

“Mr. Holmes. I need you to take deep breaths for me. Concentrate on me, look at me. Deep breaths now. In,.... and out. Again! In,..... and out. Good. Keep looking at me. In.... and out. That's it.”

 

The nurse placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and smiled encouragingly.

 

“Keep breathing, that's it, nice and steady. Eyes on me.”

 

The nurse then turns to Mycroft.

 

“Mr. Holmes, your brother needs his rest. I'm going to have to ask you to leave now.”

 

Sherlock sees Mycroft's mouth open to protest but then the nurse takes a step forward and Mycroft closes his mouth. He looks at Sherlock, sadness and worry in his grey eyes and then he turns and leaves.

 

The nurse watches him go till the door closes behind Mycroft's back. She turns back to Sherlock, again with a warm smile on her face and Sherlock relaxes instantly.

 

She's about to head out when Sherlock sits up, hand going out as to grab her.

 

“Wait! Is it true? Do you know anything about DI Lestrade? Please? I need to know.”

 

Sherlock's eyes fill with tears and he blinks rapidly. Now is not the time. He sees the nurse looking at him, taking him in and she comes back to his bed, her mind made up.

 

“It was a close call, he's been in surgery for 4 hours. Tough cookie that one. Don't worry Mr. Holmes, he will be fine.”

 

She taps his hand, a soft look in her eyes and Sherlock can't figure out why. He doesn't deserve kindness, or compassion. He just shot one of his closest friends, almost killed him. Why isn't he in jail already?

 

“Can I get you anything else Mr. Holmes?”

“Sherlock. Call me Sherlock.”

 

“Allright Mr.... Sherlock. Try to get some sleep. You're body is still healing. I'll check in with you later today.”

 

“Wait, what's your name?”

 

“Ella, call me Ella. Now get some rest Sherlock, it will do you good.”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes, relief racing through him at Ella's words. He's going to make it! He swallowed back the tears, opening his eyes to see Ella looking at him with sympathy.

 

“I'll keep you updated. Now sleep.”

 

 


	2. 6 months later

Sherlock woke up with a scream, scrambled images in his mind as he tried to stop his racing heart. A pair of sad, light brown eyes haunted him as he got out of bed, still shaking as he threw on his robe and went to the living room. In the time it takes to start the kettle John is downstairs, a worried look in his eyes as he scans Sherlock's frame.

 

“Another one?”

 

Sherlock just nods his head once, placing two cups of tea on the counter as John comes and sits down. He takes a sip, closing his eyes briefly before looking back at Sherlock, a question on his lips.

 

“No, I haven't spoken to him.”

 

John closes his mouth, a frown on his face as Sherlock let's out a sigh, sitting down and holding the cup to his freezing hands.

 

“You should give him a call Sherlock. He's been asking for you.”

 

John says it quietly, not looking at Sherlock as he drinks the rest of his tea.

 

“How can I possible go to him now, after I.”

 

Sherlock cuts himself off, biting his lip as he stares at the counter, his mind replaying those last images of his nightmare. Those haunting eyes looking at him with sadness and blame.

 

“Sherlock. You need to stop beating yourself up about this.” John says it firmly, placing his hand on Sherlock's arm for a second before releasing it. Sherlock feels cold to the bone.

 

“I shot him John. Shot him! Why would I not beat myself up about it? Why aren't you?!”

 

Sherlock's voice raises as he looks up at John. He doesn't understand the softness in John's eyes, the kindness in the curve of his lips. It doesn't make sense and he doesn't deserve it.

 

“You weren't you Sherlock. You messed up, big time I'll give you that but Greg is fine now. He wants to see you Sherlock, wants to talk to you. Why don't you give him that?”

 

John stands up, placing the cup in the sink. Sherlock hasn't touched his tea yet, his throat too tight to even try. He probably wouldn't keep it down anyway.

 

“He knows what you've been through Sherlock. You had a relapse, it happens, he understands.”

 

John places his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock blinks his eyes, trying to keep in the tears.

 

“How can he understand when I can't?”

 

Sherlock whispers, his voice weak with unshed tears and John squeezes his shoulder briefly.

 

“Talk to him. Night Sherlock, I'm here if you need me, okay?”

 

Sherlock nods, not able to look at John as he hears him go upstairs. He stares at his tea for a long time before pouring it down the drain, placing his cup next to John's and heading back to his bedroom.

 

Talking to Lestrade, just the idea of it makes Sherlock shiver but at the same time he needs to see him, needs to know he really is okay. He sighs, collapsing unto the bed, retreating in his mindpalace till sunlight shines into his bedroom.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock can't remember the last time he had been this nervous. He'd dressed and changed 3 times and that alone was enough to make Sherlock even more nervous. Contrary to what some people believed he didn't care what he wore and how he looked. It was easier for people to tell him stuff and trust him when he looked nicely dressed but other then that he really didn't care.

 

So changing his shirt 3 times in 15 minutes was a sign. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, checking himself one more time in the mirror before heading out to the living room. John looked up, a small smile on his lips as he looked Sherlock over.

 

“You look nice.”

 

Sherlock blushed just slightly, he still wasn't used to getting compliment, even from John, even after all this time. He shook his head in frustration, going over to get his coat and putting it on.

 

“This is a bad idea John. Why should I go?! What can I say? Nice to see you and oh, by the way, sorry I shot you while I was going out of my mind.”

 

Sherlock buttoned up his coat, getting his scarf and wrapping it around his neck. John huffed out a laugh and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 

“You could but I don't think Greg would appreciate it.”

 

Sherlock groaned, his shoulder slumped back as if already defeated.

 

“Seriously Sherlock, just go and listen to what Greg has to say. Be honest, tell him what happened, he knows you Sherlock, he likes you. He'll understand.”

 

Sherlock wished he could be as confident and sure as John seemed to be. He nodded again, heading out the door before he could change his mind. This could be a difficult day.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Greg let out a long breath, calming his nerves and clenching his hand to stop if from shaking. This was ridiculous, he'd been shot before, why was he acting to strongly to just hearing Sherlock's voice through the intercom.

 

“ _You've never been shot by a friend before.”_

 

Greg closed his eyes for a second before pushing the buzzer and letting Sherlock in. It said a lot, more then Greg wanted to think about, that Sherlock actually rang the doorbell to begin with. He'd heard the slight waver in Sherlock's voice as he asked to come in and Greg felt some of is nerves ease away. _He's just as nervous as I am._ Breath Greg, just breath.

 

The knock on the door made him jump slightly and he cursed inwardly. He rubbed his hand on the place he'd been shot, stopping himself the instant he realise he was doing it.

 

“Le-Lestrade?”

 

He snapped out of his little panic attack and opened the door. Sherlock flinched by the abrupt movement and Greg held his breath for a second. It had been almost 7 months since he'd last seen him, not since the incident and his eyes took it all in. The worried look in Sherlock's eyes, the sadness around his mouth, the fact he'd lost a few pounds again. Greg swallowed down the lump in his throat and gestured for Sherlock to come in. He caught a wiff of Sherlock's cologne and the hole in his stomach closed up a bit more. There was something familiar about that smell, a familiarity he'd missed in all the months they hadn't spoken.

 

“Sit down, please.”

 

Greg gestured to the sofa as Sherlock took of his scarf and unbuttoned his coat. He looked perfect in his dark blue shirt with black pants and vest. His shirt brought out the colour of his eyes even more and Greg swallowed again, the beginning of a blush forming.

 

“Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure if you would.”

 

Greg kept looking at Sherlock as the man sat down, his body still tense and uneasy.

 

“I- I wasn't sure either.”

 

Sherlock whispered, looking down as he fidgeted with his hands. Greg couldn't keep the disappointed 'oh' from leaving his mouth and Sherlock's head shot up, worry and panic in his eyes.

 

“NO! I don't mean. I mean, I wasn't sure if you would let me in. Once I-I got here.”

 

Sherlock looked pained and Greg came forward, closing some of the distance between them.

 

“I asked you to come Sherlock. I wouldn't leave you standing out in the cold. I wanted to see you. See how you are doing. How have you been?”

 

Greg saw the confusion on Sherlock's face and he sat down opposite him, giving him time to answer.

 

“I don't understand. Why are you asking me how I'm doing?”

 

Greg's mouth fell open as Sherlock looked at him with disbelief. He took a breath, placing his hands on his knees, leaning forward to stare into Sherlock's eyes.

 

“Cause I haven't heard from you in over 6 months Sherlock. When I last saw you, you weren't fine at all. I heard from Mycroft it was a close call, you could have died Sherlock. Of course my first question is how you are doing.”

 

“But I.” Sherlock swallowed as he cast his eyes away,shame clearly visible. “I shot you Lestrade. I almost killed you, how can you be so- so _nice_!”

Sherlock's voice got higher near the end, his hands going up in disbelief or frustration, Greg wasn't sure.

 

“I got so out of my mind, sure that Moriarty wasn't dead, sure he was taunting me, setting me up again. I couldn't take it, the games he played, the lives he toyed with, all because of some weird obsession over me. I was sure Lestrade! So sure it was him all over again and he broke me.”

 

Sherlock was almost in tears, his breath going fast and shallow as he pushed on.

 

“The idea of going through all that, the torture, the isolation, just to come back home and realise it was all for nothing! It broke me Lestrade! I couldn't deal with it, I failed, again! And then I-I, I gave in.”

 

The anger and misery in Sherlock's tone made Greg want to reach out and hug him till forever. Instead he got up, sitting down next to the man, keeping a bit of distance between them and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

 

“It happens Sherlock, a lot of people would have giving in, much sooner then you.”

 

“It's not a comfort Lestrade, fact is that I still shot you! I SHOT YOU! I could have lost you and you'd never have known how I feel about you. How can you be so calm and forgiving, you should hate me! WHY DON'T YOU HATE ME!”

 

Sherlock screamed, standing up and pacing the space in front of the sofa. Greg's mouth fell open, looking at Sherlock with shock as he replayed Sherlock's words.

 

“How you feel about me?”

 

Greg whispered, seeing Sherlock stop in horror, his eyes looking out the window.

 

“Sherlock, what do you mean? How you feel about me? What-what does that mean?”

 

Greg got up slowly, turning around to stand in front of Sherlock, who looked heart broken and scared out of his mind.

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock, please.”

 

It sounded like a plea, a desperate plea as Greg moved closer, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's as he slowly reached his hand out to touch Sherlock's arm. It rested there for a moment, the warmth of Greg's hand nearly burning Sherlock's skin before it slid down, loosely holding Sherlock's hand.

 

“Don't. Please, don't make me say it. I don't, I don't deserve you.”

 

Sherlock's voice was tiny and broken, tears ready to fall. He swallowed once, twice, closing his eyes as Greg's other hand reached out to stroke his cheek.

 

“Les- Greg. I. Please forgive me.”

 

Before Greg could respond, Sherlock's lips touched his own, a hint of tongue tracing his upper lip before letting go.

 

“My nightmares are about losing you. Knowing I'm the reason you nearly died, it's almost unbearable.”

 

Sherlock couldn't keep the tears inside any longer, he stumble, almost collapsing onto the carpet. Greg reached out, holding him up and helping him to the sofa. He kept Sherlock close, wrapping him up as the man broke down completely and sobbed. The sound was heartbreaking, making Greg feel cold to the bone. He rubbed Sherlock's back with one hand as the other found it's way to Sherlock's hair and stroked it, over and over, whispering soft promises and kind words as Sherlock cried his soul out.

 

Greg's shirt was wet from Sherlock's tears when the man finally stopped, just as quick as it had started. Sherlock kept sitting in the same position, his knuckles white were he held on to Greg. His breathing was fast and shallow, headache already beginning when Greg slowly released him.

 

He didn't want to admit it but feeling Greg move away from him made him panic and he clutch on tighter.

 

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry, so sorry! Don't leave, don't-don't.”

 

Sherlock couldn't speak, his throat closing up as he realises how pathetic he was acting. He didn't have the right to ask comfort, didn't have the right to ask Greg to stay, to kiss him again, to even sit next to him. But he couldn't help it, he needed Greg, he'd always needed him and it had hit him full force when he had almost lost him.

 

“Sherlock. Shhhttt love, it's all fine. I'm not leaving you, just getting you something to drink, some tissues too. That's all, it won't take a minute. C'mon love, let me help you.”

 

Sherlock manages to half hold in his sob as he forced his fingers to release Greg's frame. He bowed his head down, to ashamed to watch Greg move around and fetch things for him. He startled slightly as Greg nudged his shoulder, placing a glass of cold water in his hands.

 

“Look at me love.”

 

Greg's finger went under Sherlock' chin, lightly bringing up Sherlock's head till their eyes met. Sherlock felt shame and disgust rise inside him as Greg watched him with his kind, compassionate eyes.

 

“Drink some water. Try to calm down.”

 

Sherlock brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip as Greg watched him with concentration. Sherlock rolled the water around in his mouth before swallowing, feeling the effect of the cold drink as it past his throat. He gave a tiny smile as he drank some more, feeling a little better. Greg handed him some tissues, taking the glass from him as Sherlock whipped away the tears as best he could and blew his noise.

 

Greg reached out, stroking Sherlock's cheek and Sherlock leaned into it without thinking, savouring the comfort and care Greg gave him.

 

“Oh Sherlock.”

 

Greg whispered, a sad tone to his voice that had Sherlock look up through his lashes, a pit of worry in his stomach.

 

“It's too bad you had to shoot me first to realise how you feel about me.”

 

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock as Greg huffed out a laugh.

 

“Sorry! It's too soon right?”

 

Greg laughed again as Sherlock rolled his eyes. Greg craddled Shzrlock's face in both hands, his eyes boring into Sherlock's as he spoke, a hint of hesitation in his words.

 

“You. When you said that, am I right in assuming it's not just like a friend? You feel for me but more then just friendship?”

 

Greg's heart stopped as Sherlock nodded his head, looking down again and worrying his lip. Greg wanted to jump up and scream out, wanted to do a silly dance and tell the world. Instead he placed his forehead against Sherlock's, resting there for a second as he tried to calm his racing heart.

 

“I-I feel deeply for you Lestrade. I can't, can't.”

 

Greg pulled away, waiting till Sherlock looked up.

 

“Sht love, you don't have to explain. I. God Sherlock, I love you so much.”

 

Greg leaned forward, letting out a sound as their lips connected again. Sherlock's felt soft, with a hint of salt from his tears. When they parted Sherlock still had his eyes closed, a faint blush on his cheeks.

 

“You shouldn't. Love me. I'm not good for you.”

 

Greg shook his head, placing a kiss on Sherlock's forehead.

 

“Stop Sherlock. I can't unlove you, it's too late. You are perfect for me.”

 

“But I.”

 

“Yes, I know. But that wasn't really you, you know that. It's going to take time, I know it won't be easy but Sherlock. We owe it to ourselves to try. Don't you agree?”

 

Greg saw the no in Sherlock's eyes and he came forward, smashing their lips together, all his love and passion pouring out of him as he explored Sherlock's mouth, traced his lips, made Sherlock moan when he gave a tiny bite before breaking the kiss. Sherlock's eyes were glazed over and Greg couldn't stop the smirk on his lips. He did that!

 

“Stay here today. Text John so he won't worry. We have a lot to talk about, a lot to discuss. And I want to kiss you some more.”

 

Sherlock's eyes were huge as Greg finished his sentence, a spark of desire in Sherlock's eyes, mixed with hope.

 

“We wasted enough time Sherlock. You shooting me, maybe it will turn out to be the best thing that could have happened for us.”

 

Greg let out a laugh at Sherlock's scowl, clearly the man didn't see it like that, yet. Greg kissed him again, getting up and going to the phone to order some lunch and dinner. Seeing Sherlock sit there, phone in hand as he type away at the speed of light, already felt right. They would make this work.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic was inspired by a post I saw on tumblr about the trailer of season 4 where they think Sherlock shot Lestrade and that's why he is so shocked. Theory can be found here: http://mental-leaps.tumblr.com/post/147997143318/theory  
> \---------------------------------------------------------  
> Title is from a line in the Alexander Hamilton song from the musical.  
> \---------------------------------------------------------  
> If I made any mistakes or you want to tell me how you liked it you can comment here or on my tumblr: http://readingfanficswatchingshows.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> If you want me to add tags you can send me an email to: KallistoIndrani@hotmail.com
> 
> I have a blog where you can find sneek peeks, updates and writer's tips: http://readingfanficswrites.tumblr.com/


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